Wednesday, July 8, 2009

Achtung! This post contains the words vagina and my, only the my is before the word vagina, hence one of the vaginas in question might belong to me. So if you are not prepared to read about my vagina please stop now and visit this url instead: www.susannahhasnovagina.com.No greasy aftereffect! Click on pic to enlarge.

Well fuck me. And I mean that in the most please don't really fuck me sense of the word. Because my vagina hurts just reading the latest news. And apparently it is dirty because I have never not once safeguarded my dainty allure with Lysol disinfectant. Or anything really. No, my dainty allure is au-natural. And quite frankly, unless I plan on swimming that day, my dainty allure would be right at home in the original 1972 edition of The Joy of Sex, so lax am I with hair removal.Sue was furious at Tom for the way he'd been treating her! But she was really to blame! Click on the pic to enlarge and see how Sue shot benzalkonium chloride into her cooch to go from domestic crisis to marital bliss!

And now I hear this news: as if my vagina wasn't feeling inadequate enough what with nary a Lysol to dis the infectant, all hairy and happy and post-pubescent, post-pregnancy, post-me caring, now my vagina feels lazy, too. Because guess what? My vagina could probably only bench press 8lbs, and only then if my daughter was screaming crying trapped under that 8lbs and for some reason I had no arms and no legs, not even a chin to nudge her out, just my apparently germy, hirsute vagina to save the day. Come to think of it, my vagina probably couldn't even do that. When Zoey was born she weighed just 5lb., 15oz., and I still had to have a c-section, so no, my vagina can't even lift 6lbs. I'm telling you--my vagina is one Pringle-eatin' couch potato; when we go to the beach my vagina gets sand kicked in its face.

Those damn Russians with their little matryoshka dolls all nestled inside each other just so. So there's this lady. And she's all over the internet. She says she holds the record for The World's Strongest Vagina because apparently such contests exist and nobody told me. She lifted 14 kilograms worth of weights--almost 31lbs, which would be the equivalent of me picking up Zoey with my pocketbook. I only say pocketbook because I am tired of writing vagina. Vaginavaginavagina. In Russian the word is киску which totally looks stronger so she had that advantage going in.

Kozhevnikova of Novosibirsk, 42, has been exercising her intimate muscles for fifteen years, and says, “After I had a child, my intimate muscles got unbelievably weak. I read books on Dao and learned that ancient women used to deal with this problem using wooden balls,” she said. “I looked around, saw a Murano glass ball and inserted it in my vagina. It took me ages to get it out!”

This. Dis. Turbs. Me. A Murano glass ball? Intimate muscles? Dainty allure pumping iron (or glass balls, wood balls any ball at all?) Listen--I know about kegels. Someone once told me to do them whenever I am waiting for a red light to change. So I do. Or did. Until I saw a kitten crossing the street or a balloon floating in the sky, until I had a thought in my head and then I forgot about my vagina sitting there in the car all clenched and grunting in its World's Gym tank top made just for vaginas, and I stopped. And I sure as hell haven't inserted any Murano glass balls in there.

It would seem that my vagina is an under-achiever. My vagina won't be setting any Guiness Records. There is no need for me to douche with Lysol and then apply self-tanner and iodine in order to highlight its muscles. Because my vagina is a pussy.

Oh Susannah...This is the funniest fucking thing I have read in a long time. Believe me, after my daughter who's now 4 and my twins who are 2, I don't know if there are any muscles left. I find it funny that I'm even talking about my vagina. The power of the internet, because surely face to face, the first topic of conversation surely would not be our vaginas. You crack me up and I needed that today. Thanks!

There's not a doubt in my mind that: A)You, nor any other member of my family wants to hear one word about my vagina (but when has something like that ever stopped me?) so I'll just say that it's old and can't recall a time when there was ever a need to so much as pick up the morning paper. Now in retirement it just snoozes in the sun and tries to remember the "good ole' days"...and B) I am just entertained, tickled and puffed up with maternal pride (and some water retention)that My Girl's writing is taking such a ballsy, no vaggie, turn. Your posts and wit seem to be evolving into a delightfully unabashed expose of that same "other Susannah" that seems to unexpectedly escape at odd moments-a la the full-tilt Ethyl Merman persona blasting out "There's No Business Like Show Business" or the Visiting Russian Hooker with the crazy thick accent bar-hopping in SF. I love this side of you, Sybil! And lastly, C)This is THE definition of Mom cheering too loudly (probably while wearing purple hotpants,an elastic halter top and a banana clip) in the bleachers. To punish myself before you do, I will return to lurking for at least a week.Loving you to pieces-even while most likely embarrasing the Shit out of you,Mom

Hi, I'm Susannah and I love shiny things, swimming, the smell of fresh cut grass, orange blossoms and horse shit. The feel of my children's eyelashes on my cheek is a live virus that grows in me, multiplies and sustains. I will never understand Amish Friendship Bread.

I write for love but money works, too. Email me for more info, or just to say hello.
susannah.ink@gmail.com